It's A Dirty Job But Somebody Has To Do It

I have a confession to make. I’m a kitchenholic. I absorb and take in anything to do with the kitchen. I love to cook and bake and anything that helps me do that, makes it simpler, makes it slicker, makes it prettier, makes it a joy to do, I want it.

I hate it though when I have something that doesn’t work. We have slowly been replacing the appliances in my kitchen (I know it is our kitchen but I use it the most, so it is mine; it is no different from it is his tractor or his skid loader; he uses it more than I do, so that is his). The washer was four years ago, the dryer 1-1/2 years ago, the dishwasher a little over a year ago and the stove this past Christmas. The refrigerator is next on the list and has been giving us indications that she wants to throw in the towel.

But the dishwasher just gave me a nod that she isn’t feeling good and that upsets the apple cart in my kitchen. When an appliance goes bad, it is never a good thing. Dishwashers are one thing that, if they don’t work, you can always handwash the dishes. But it becomes a major inconvenience. And she decided she wanted to inconvenience me yesterday.

I got back early Friday evening (well, if 8:00 is early) from being gone since that morning with my Aunt to the hospital. Once we finally got her admitted from the ER (2:00), I stayed until 4:30 and then headed to my cousin’s visitation with some of my family in Madison. When I left there, I stopped at Target on the way home to pick up a couple things, and then stopped at Bob’s brother and sister-in-law Ed and Faye’s farm to pick up some items I had ordered from Faye’s recent Pampered Chef party. I had designs in my head what I wanted to make for the funeral the next day and for at home. I picked them up and then went home. I quickly threw together two batches of my family’s Devil’s Food Cake recipe; one for cupcakes and other for a cake. Popped them all in the oven and waited for them to bake and cool. In the meantime I whipped up some BBQ for Bob and me to eat. By the time Bob got in the house from milking, I had the cupcakes out and was starting to frost them. One of the things I ordered from the Pampered Chef party was the decorating tube set. My Lord, I have gone to heaven. This pumps easily and effortlessly. I whipped up the frosting and, slightly afraid the “gun” wouldn’t be able to handle a stiffer frosting, added a tinge more milk to make it slightly softer. No problem – as I said – easy and effortless. And the decorating designs make my head dizzy. I love to decorate bakery items and have found just the tool that will make it more enjoyable.

After all the baking and cooking that night, I unloaded the dishes and pots and pans from the dishwasher that I had it wash that morning. I then refilled the dishwasher from that night’s escapades and let it sit for the night. I figured I could put the breakfast dishes in it and let it wash before I went to the funeral.

The next morning, I was up early and after we had breakfast I thought I would put those dishes in the dishwasher and then go jump on the treadmill. I hit the normal wash button and then start and then . . . nothing. No light, no starting, no washing – nothing. I tried it again, nothing. Okay, well maybe the power switch was turned off. Not positive which is on or off, I tried both. Nothing. No, no, no, no!! (I almost stomped my feet hysterically, but refused to give in to a child’s spoiled behavior – at least for the moment.) Okay, maybe we blew a fuse (do you notice how it now becomes part of Bob’s kitchen, with the “we”!) Since Bob was just about ready to go out to the barn, he quickly went downstairs to check the fuses. Nope, nothing wrong there. He came back up, murmuring “why do these things always have to happen right before I go out to the barn.” They do – honest to God, they do! The refrigerator did it a couple weeks ago! I think they (the appliances) pow-wow at night and decide whose turn it is to irritate the hell out of us and then after someone draws the short straw, they do their thing right before we enter the kitchen in the morning. Or in this case, don’t do their thing.

He can’t figure it out, so he said he will have to deal with it later. I have to do the treadmill, get showered and leave for the funeral, so I can’t tinker with it (which, truthfully, wouldn’t be a good idea anyway, if you know what I mean). Okay, so I’ll leave it be and let him deal with it when he comes in. I know I am going to be gone all day, because after the funeral and luncheon, I will go to the hospital to spend time with Auntie and then will have Brooke’s recital that night.

I put it into the back of my mind and left for the day. On the way home that night, I called Bob and he couldn’t figure it out, he tested it and it has power going to do it, so he said he would have to call someone about it. Aaaahhh, yes – the Maytag Repair Man. Yes, it is a Maytag. We had a Maytag before and it lasted about nine years. This one, though, we did research on. I checked my Consumer Reports magazines and it was one of the better and most reliable. We even got an extended warranty.

Over the years, I have learned how to pack a “mean” dishwasher, at least so my sisters have commented. I know how to exactly pack my dishwasher so that everything gets clean and that the pots are scrubbed and the glasses are clean and there is nothing left on silverware. But everything has to be positioned just right in there. In other words, when I have a load in the dishwasher – I have a load. There is nothing left in the sink, there is nothing left on the counter. All the dishes are in the dishwasher. Of course, there are always those things that can’t go in the dishwasher, but I don’t mind washing them by hand – when I have the time. But, lately, I haven’t had the time and I certainly don’t have the time now. But, be that as it may, since Ms. Dishwasher has drawn the short straw, I’m stuck with cleaning up her mess. It was my mess before I handed it over to her. Once I closed that door, it was her mess. Not my fault that she drew the short straw – I’m now cleaning up her mess.

So after I got up this morning and having a rough low in the middle of the night, I ate breakfast and did the treadmill, a little longer this morning, too. I think I did that only because I didn’t want to think about having to unload everything from the dishwasher to hand wash them.

Here I sat this morning looking at a mountain of dishes. I hate to say this but there is something very contenting about doing dishes . . . sometimes, once in awhile. Those are key words – once in awhile. I had the TV switched to the DIY channel, chicken in the oven, potatoes on the stove, veggies steaming, so the smells and sounds of the kitchen were soothing. One has to be in a total zen place when doing dishes by hand. An hour later, everything was washed, dried and put away.

Once done, I made lunch and then realized once more. Oh, yea, I have to do the darn dishes by hand again. This is beginning to get a little annoying.

When Bob and I first got married, I didn’t have a dishwasher for awhile. When we had moved to a farm in Monticello, the guy that lived there before us, had a portable dishwasher that he didn’t want to take with him because where they were moving to had a built-in. Bob said he thought it would be nice for me to have, since at that time I was helping milk, feeding calves and working in Madison, too. I have to admit that I wasn’t very knowledgeable about dishwashers at the time and hate to reveal the next to you because it wasn’t very pretty. Oh, yea, you might have guessed it by now. There was no owner’s manual with this dishwasher and after I figured out how to hook it up to the kitchen faucet, I thought I would try it out. It was the weekend and Bob was outside at the time, unable to rescue me from my impending disaster. I filled the dishwasher with our dirty dishes and, not having bought any dishwasher liquid yet, I thought I could use Dawn. Yea, yea, yea, I can hear you chuckling already. (Let’s just say that I had very clean floors afterward.) I put in some Dawn and started it up. I went into the other rooms to do some cleaning and when I came out just a few minutes later I had mountains of foamy soap spewing from unknown crevices in the dishwasher. I couldn’t believe it. I thought these things were leakproof. There must be something wrong here and why in the heck won’t all this foaming stop!! I grabbed bath towel after bath towel after bath towel trying to contain the suds. I opened up the door to stop the dishwasher and then Bob came in. I don’t quite remember which was worse – the deer in the headlights look on his face at first from all the suds and or the so-funny-I-think-I-am-going-to-keel-over-from-laughing-so-hard outbursts from him. I didn’t think it was funny. I was slipping and sliding all over the place and drowning in suds. Who would ever think that a few little drops (!??!) of Dawn could cause that many suds. As I said before, a couple hours later my floors were spotless.

Yep, a big lesson learned here and, I swear, I have never used (and will never use) Dawn in the dishwasher again – no matter how low I got on Cascade.

That might have turned another newby off on dishwasher, but I began to like the concept of not having to manually do my dishes. And, as my life progressively got busier and busier, the thought of being without a dishwasher has scared the crap out of me.

So, here I sit today without a working dishwasher. Tomorrow begins the work week and I won’t have time to do the dishes by hand before or after work on any day, because every night I will be at the hospital after work and it will be late getting home. Bob knows I have handed it off to him to get something done about it and he hates it as much as I do when new things don’t work the way they are supposed to because it just becomes an inconvenience. Bob’s work is cut out for him come Monday morning after milking. He has to call the Maytag Repair Man.

I know one thing for sure, he shouldn’t have any problems with that task, because according to the gospel of TV, we all know the Maytag Repair Man is a lonely man and he isn’t busy. He better hurry, too, because I can tell that my hands are getting kind of pruney-looking.